Richard Widmark: The Life Story Behind Hollywood's Tough Guy
In this post
Richard Widmark had a laugh that could frighten a whole cinema. It was high, wild, and cruel, and when he laughed in his first film, Kiss of Death, audiences knew at once that they were watching a new kind of villain, a man who enjoyed being bad. He played Tommy Udo, a gangster who pushed an old woman down a flight of stairs in a wheelchair, and the scene shocked people in 1947, and it made Widmark famous overnight. He was thirty-two years old, and he had come from radio and Broadway, and he had never made a film before, and yet he gave one of the most memorable performances in the history of film noir.
He was born in Minnesota, and he grew up in Illinois, in a small town where his father ran a travelling show and his mother taught school. He went to college, he worked in radio, he acted on Broadway, and he learned his craft slowly, the way good actors do, by working, by listening, and by paying attention. He was not a handsome leading man in the usual sense, but he had a face that could be charming and frightening at the same time, and directors loved that, because it made his characters feel dangerous.
The story of his life is a story of a man who was typecast as a villain and who fought, for the rest of his career, to be seen as something more. He played heroes, he played sheriffs, he played soldiers, and he played tired old men, and he did each of them well, but audiences never forgot Tommy Udo, and the laugh that went with him. He lived to be ninety-three, he was married for more than fifty years, and he died in Connecticut in 2008, after a long and steady career that lasted for more than sixty years.
A Small Town Boy From Minnesota and Illinois
Richard Weedt Widmark was born on 26 December 1914 in Sunrise Township, Minnesota, a small place in the north of the state. His father, Carl, was a travelling salesman who ran a show, and his mother, Ethel, was a teacher, and the family moved often when Richard was a boy, living in several small towns in Minnesota and Illinois. He grew up in Princeton, Illinois, a quiet town where everyone knew everyone else, and where a boy learned to be polite, to work hard, and to respect his elders. He was a clever boy, and he did well at school, and he liked to read, and he liked to act in school plays.
He went to Lake Forest College in Illinois, where he studied and took part in theatre, and he discovered that he liked acting, that he was good at it, and that it gave him a way to express feelings that he could not put into words in ordinary life. He was not a loud boy, and he was not a show-off, but on stage he could be someone else, and that freedom stayed with him. He graduated from college, and he went to New York, where he worked in radio, playing many parts, and learning how to use his voice, how to make an audience believe him with only his voice to work with.
Radio was a popular medium in the 1930s and 1940s, and Widmark worked in it for many years, playing in soap operas, in dramas, and in comedies, and he became known as a reliable, versatile actor who could play almost anything. He played the title role in the radio show Front Page Farrell, a reporter who solved crimes, and he worked with many other actors who would later become famous in films. Radio taught him discipline, because he had to be ready, he had to know his lines, and he had to make a character real in a few minutes, with no face to help him, only his voice.
He also worked on Broadway, appearing in plays, and he built a reputation as a serious actor who could play many kinds of parts. He was thirty years old when he went to Hollywood, and he was not a young star, but he was a grown man, with a family, with a career in radio and theatre, and with a clear idea of who he was. That maturity showed in his acting, and it showed in the way he handled fame when it came, suddenly, in 1947.
Tommy Udo and the Laugh That Shocked America
In 1947, Widmark was cast as Tommy Udo in Kiss of Death, a film noir directed by Henry Hathaway and starring Victor Mature. Tommy Udo was a gangster, a small, wiry man with a high, giggling laugh, who enjoyed hurting people, and Widmark played him with an energy that was both funny and frightening. The most famous scene in the film shows Udo pushing an old woman in a wheelchair down a flight of stairs, laughing as he does it, and the scene shocked audiences in 1947, because no one had seen a villain quite like him before. He was not a large, powerful gangster. He was a small, giggling man who liked to hurt people, and that made him more frightening, not less.
The film was a success, and Widmark was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for his work as Tommy Udo. He did not win, but the nomination was a sign that the film world had noticed him, and that his performance had mattered. He was thirty-two years old, and he had never made a film before, and now he was famous, and he was known all over the world as the man with the laugh. The laugh became his trademark, and it followed him for the rest of his career, even when he played heroes, because audiences remembered it.
The part also brought a problem that would follow him for years. He was now known as a villain, and directors and producers found it hard to see him as anything else. He was offered parts that repeated the same idea, the smiling gangster, the cruel killer, the man who laughs while he hurts people, and he took many of them because he needed the work, but he wanted to grow, to play men rather than monsters, and the industry was slow to let him do that. He knew that he would have to prove, film by film, that he could play more than Tommy Udo.
He did not complain in public, and he did not blame other people for the way his career had gone. He kept going to work, he kept taking the parts that were offered, and he kept looking for a way to show what he could do. He was a professional, and he behaved like one, even when the work was not what he had hoped for. He was a man who believed in doing his job well, whatever that job was, and that belief carried him through the hard years that followed his sudden fame.
Film Noir and the Dark Streets of the City
In the years after Kiss of Death, Widmark became one of the most important actors in film noir, the dark, shadowy films about crime, betrayal, and moral choice that were popular in the late 1940s and early 1950s. He played in Night and the City in 1950, a film set in London, in which he played Harry Fabian, a small-time hustler who dreams of making it big and who is destroyed by his own ambition. The film was not a great success at the time, but it is now seen as a classic, and Widmark’s performance in it is one of the most moving things he ever did on screen. He showed that Harry Fabian was not a villain, but a man who wanted more than he could have, and who paid a high price for that wanting.
He also played in Pickup on South Street in 1953, a film directed by Samuel Fuller, in which he played Skip McCoy, a pickpocket who steals a wallet that contains secret information, and who is caught between the police and foreign spies. The part was a tough one, and Widmark played it with a cool, quiet strength, showing that Skip was not a hero, but a man who had his own code, and who would not betray it, even when it cost him. The film was a success, and it showed that Widmark could play a hero as well as a villain, if he was given the chance.
He played in many other noir films, in The Street with No Name, in Road House, in Panic in the Streets, and in each of them he brought the same honesty, the same intensity, and the same belief that a character should feel like a real person, not a type. He liked noir, because it was about real life, about the dark side of the city, about men who had to make hard choices, and he understood those men, because he had grown up in small towns, and he had seen what happens when a man wants more than the world will give him.
The noir years were good years for Widmark, but they were also hard years, because the films were often made quickly, and the parts were often similar, and he had to work hard to make each character feel different from the last. He did it, film by film, by paying attention to small details, by listening to the other actors, and by trusting his instincts. That is the work of a good actor, and Widmark was a good actor, even when the films did not give him the credit he deserved.
Westerns, War Films, and a Hero at Last
In the 1950s, Widmark began to play in westerns, and he found that he liked them, because they were about a world he understood, a world of open land, of hard work, and of men who had to make hard choices. He played in Broken Lance in 1954, a western about a family of ranchers, and in Two Rode Together in 1961, a western directed by John Ford, and in many other westerns, playing sheriffs, soldiers, and ranchers, men who were tough on the outside and decent on the inside. He was good at westerns, because he could ride, because he could shoot, and because he understood the men who lived in them.
He also played in war films, in The Alamo in 1960, in which he played Jim Bowie, a famous frontiersman who died at the Alamo, and in many other films about soldiers and war. He liked war films, because they were about men under pressure, about bravery, about fear, and about the cost of doing your duty. He had not served in the war himself, because of a health problem, but he respected soldiers, and he tried to play them honestly, as men who were afraid, and who did their jobs anyway.
In 1968, he played in Madigan, a film about a New York detective, and the film was so successful that it was later made into a television series, in which Widmark played the same part. He liked the series, because it let him play a character over many episodes, building the character slowly, in the way that a stage actor builds a part over many nights. He was a professional, and he treated television with the same respect that he treated film and theatre, because he believed that good work was good work, wherever it was done.
He also worked as a producer in those years, making films that he believed in, and trying to tell stories that mattered to him. He was not a rich man, and he did not make films for money alone. He made them because he believed in them, and because he wanted to show audiences a different kind of story, a story about real people, about real problems, and about the choices that real people have to make. That is a brave thing to do in Hollywood, and it is a thing that deserves respect.
Judgment at Nuremberg and the Serious Films of the 1960s
In 1961, Widmark played Colonel Tad Lawson in Judgment at Nuremberg, a serious film about the trials that followed the Second World War. The film tells the story of a court in Nuremberg, in Germany, where four German judges are put on trial for the part they played in the crimes of the Nazi government. Lawson is the American prosecutor, a calm and serious man who believes that the law must be used to bring justice, even when justice is hard and the questions are painful. The film starred Spencer Tracy as the judge, Burt Lancaster as one of the men on trial, and Marlene Dietrich, and it was praised all over the world for asking hard questions about right and wrong.
Widmark played Lawson without shouting and without showing off, and that quiet way of acting suited the part. The prosecutor is not a hero who wins with a loud speech, but a man who does his job, day after day, asking questions, listening to answers, and trusting the law to do what it must. Widmark understood that kind of man, because he had played many men who did their duty in silence, and he brought the same honesty to Lawson that he had brought to his sheriffs and his soldiers. The film is still watched today, in schools and in homes, because the questions it asks have not gone away.
In 1962, he played in How the West Was Won, a very large western made for the wide Cinerama screen, with many famous actors telling the story of one family over several generations. Widmark played Mike King, a railroad man who is tough and ambitious, and who will do almost anything to lay his track across the land. The part was smaller than some of his others, but he made King feel real, a man who believes in progress, who believes in the railroad, and who does not see the cost of what he is building until it is too late. The film was a great success, and it showed that Widmark could work in the biggest films Hollywood made and still keep his character human.
In 1965, he went further and produced a film himself, The Bedford Incident, in which he also played the captain of an American warship, Eric Finlander, a man who hunts a Soviet submarine in the cold waters of the North Atlantic and who is destroyed by his own pride. Widmark believed in the story, which was based on a novel, and he put his own money and his own name behind it, because he wanted audiences to think about the dangers of the Cold War and about what happens when a strong man will not listen to anyone else. The film did not make him rich, but it showed what kind of actor he was, a man who chose stories that mattered to him, not only stories that paid well.
A Long Marriage and a Life Away From Hollywood
Widmark was married to Jean Hazlewood, a writer, from 1942 until her death in 1997, a marriage of fifty-five years. They had a daughter, and they built a life together in Connecticut, away from the centre of the film industry, in a home that was plain and comfortable, not grand or showy. Widmark often said that his wife was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and that without her, he would not have been able to keep going through the hard years. She was his partner, his friend, and his anchor, and their long marriage was one of the most admired in Hollywood.
After his wife died, he married Susan Blanchard, a former actress, in 1999, and the marriage lasted until his death in 2008. He was a private man, and he did not talk much about his personal life in public, but those who knew him spoke of his warmth, his humour, and his kindness, and of the way he treated young actors with respect and with care. He was a man who believed in family, in home, and in a life that was grounded in something more than fame.
He lived to be ninety-three years old, and he died on 24 March 2008, in Roxbury, Connecticut, after a long illness, at his home, surrounded by his family. His death was mourned by actors and directors all over the world, and tributes came from people who had worked with him in every decade of his career. He had been nominated for an Oscar, he had played in some of the most famous films ever made, and he had spent more than sixty years as a working actor, and yet he was remembered most of all as a decent man, a hard worker, and a fine actor. That is a good legacy, and it is a legacy that he earned.
In the years since his death, his films have continued to be watched, and his work has continued to be praised. Kiss of Death is still one of the most famous films of the noir era, Night and the City is still seen as a classic, and Pickup on South Street is still watched by people who love film noir. His work has lasted, and it will keep lasting, because it was honest work, done by an honest man, and honest work does not fade.
He also played in The Alamo in 1960, a film directed by John Wayne, in which he played Jim Bowie, a famous frontiersman who died defending the Alamo in Texas. The film was a large, expensive production, with a huge cast, with battles, with drama, and with a story that Americans know well, and Widmark played Bowie as a tough, sick man, who is dying, and who still fights, because that is what he believes in. The film was a success, and it showed that Widmark could play a historical figure, a man who was real, and who was part of American history, with the same honesty that he brought to his noir films.
He played in Judgment at Nuremberg in 1961, a serious film about the trials of Nazi war criminals after the Second World War, in which he played Colonel Tad Lawson, a prosecutor who tries to bring justice to men who did terrible things. The film starred Spencer Tracy, Burt Lancaster, and many other famous actors, and Widmark’s performance was praised, because he played Lawson as a man who is calm, who is serious, and who believes in justice, even when justice is hard to find. The film is still watched today, because it asks hard questions about right and wrong, and Widmark’s work in it is a part of its power.
He also played in How the West Was Won in 1962, a large western film with many stars, in which he played Mike King, a railroad man who is tough, who is ambitious, and who is willing to do anything to build his railroad. The film was a great success, and it showed that Widmark could work in a large, spectacular film, with many stars, and still make his character feel real, still make the audience believe him, still bring a lifetime of skill to a part that might have been flat in other hands.
In the 1970s, he played in Murder on the Orient Express in 1974, a film based on a famous novel by Agatha Christie, in which he played Ratchett, a man who is murdered on a train, and whose death is investigated by Hercule Poirot, played by Albert Finney. The film starred many famous actors, and Widmark’s part was small, but he played it well, as a man who is unpleasant, who is afraid, and who is hiding a secret, and the audience could see, in his face, the fear behind the cruelty.
He also worked as a producer, making films that he believed in, including The Bedford Incident in 1965, a film about a naval captain who is obsessed with hunting a Soviet submarine, and who is destroyed by his own obsession. Widmark played the captain, and he produced the film, because he believed in the story, and because he wanted to show audiences a different kind of film, a film about a man who is strong, who is proud, and who is wrong. The film was a success, and it showed that Widmark could do more than act, that he could make a film, and that he could tell a story that mattered to him.
He played in The Way West in 1967, a western about a wagon train going to Oregon, and in Death of a Gunfighter in 1969, a western about a marshal who is no longer wanted by the town he protected, and in each of them he brought the same honesty, the same intensity, and the same belief that a western should be about real people, not about simple heroes and villains. He liked westerns, because they were about a world he understood, a world of open land, of hard work, and of men who had to make hard choices, and he played them well, film after film, year after year.
In his later years, he played in True Colors in 1991, a film about politics and friendship, in which he played an old senator, a man who has seen a great deal, and who has learned how to live with what he has seen. He was seventy-six years old, and he played the part with a quiet dignity, a dignity that came from a lifetime of work, and the film was a reminder that Widmark was still a fine actor, even when he was old, even when the parts were small, even when the world had forgotten Tommy Udo.
My Take:
When I think about Richard Widmark, I think about a laugh, and about how a laugh can change a life. He was thirty-two years old, he had never made a film before, and he walked onto a set and gave a performance that made audiences gasp, and that performance followed him for the rest of his life. That is a remarkable thing, and it is a frightening thing, because it shows how quickly fame can come, and how hard it can be to live with it afterwards. I admire the way he lived with it, without complaining, without giving up, and without losing himself.
I think about the small town in Illinois, and about the boy who grew up there, who went to college, who worked in radio, who acted on Broadway, and who learned his craft slowly, the way good actors do. That slow learning matters to me, because we live in a world that tells young people they must be famous at once, or they have failed. Widmark shows us that a career can be built slowly, piece by piece, and that it can last for sixty years, if you are willing to work and to wait. He was thirty-two when he became famous, and he was ninety-three when he died, and in between, he worked, and worked, and worked.
The part of Tommy Udo is the part that everyone remembers, and I understand why. It is a frightening performance, a performance about a man who enjoys hurting people, and Widmark plays it with a giggle that is both funny and terrible. I have seen that film, and I have felt the shock of it, and I have thought about what it must have taken to play a man like that, to find the humour in him, to find the cruelty in him, and to make him feel real. That is not easy acting. It is hard acting, and it is brave acting, because it asks the actor to show us a part of human nature that we would rather not see.
What makes me sad about his story is the way the world used that performance to put him in a box. He was Tommy Udo, and for many people, he was always Tommy Udo, even when he played heroes, even when he played sheriffs, even when he played tired old men. That is a cruel thing to do to an actor, to tell him that the best thing he ever did is the only thing he can ever do. Widmark did not accept that. He kept taking different parts, he kept trying to show what he could do, and he kept proving, film by film, that he was more than one laugh, more than one villain, more than one scene in one film.
I love his performance in Night and the City, because it shows a different side of him. Harry Fabian is not a villain. He is a dreamer, a man who wants to be big, who wants to be important, who wants to be loved, and who is destroyed by his own dreams. Widmark plays him with a sadness that is hard to watch, because we can see ourselves in him, in the wanting, in the hoping, in the failing. That is a great performance, and it is a performance that deserves to be remembered as much as Tommy Udo, because it shows what Widmark could do when he was given a real character, a real man, with real hopes and real fears.
I also think about his marriage, and about the fifty-five years he spent with Jean Hazlewood. That is a very long time, and it is a very long time in Hollywood, where marriages often end in a few years. They married in 1942, when he was still working in radio, and they stayed together until her death in 1997, through fame, through lean years, through children, through old age. I do not think their marriage was perfect, because no marriage is perfect, and I do not want to pretend that it was. But I do think it was real, and that it lasted because both of them worked at it, and because Widmark was the kind of man who keeps his promises. That is a lesson worth learning.
The westerns matter to me, too, because they show how well Widmark aged as an actor. He was a young villain in 1947, and he was an old sheriff in the 1960s, and he played both with the same honesty, the same intensity, and the same belief that a character should feel like a real person. He did not try to be young when he was old. He played his age, and he played it with dignity, and audiences loved him for it. I wish more films gave older actors parts like that, parts that let them show what a lifetime of living can teach a person, instead of pushing them aside for younger faces.
If I have a criticism, it is not really a criticism of Widmark himself. It is a sadness that the film world did not give him more leading roles, and that he was so often cast as the villain, the gangster, the outsider, the man who stands in the way. He could have played many other kinds of men, and I think he would have been wonderful in them, but the industry saw his face, and his laugh, and put him in a box. He made the box work for him, and he turned it into a long career, but I still wonder what he might have done if he had been given a wider range of parts. That is a question I cannot answer, and it is a question that makes me a little sad.
For a young reader, I think the lesson of Widmark’s life is about doing your job well, whatever that job is, and about not letting one success define you. He was famous for one laugh, and he could have spent the rest of his life repeating that laugh, but he did not do that. He kept learning, kept working, kept trying new things, and in the end, he had a career that lasted for more than sixty years. That is a long time, and it is a career that was built on skill, not on luck, and skill is something that no one can take away from you.
I also think about his life in Connecticut, away from Hollywood, in a plain home, with his family, with his books, with his garden. That is a good way to live, in my view, because it shows that fame is not a life, and that a life needs a home, a family, and a place to be quiet. Widmark understood that, and he lived it, and I admire him for it, because so many famous people forget it, and they spend their lives chasing applause, and they end up alone.
When I compare Widmark with other actors of his generation, what stands out is the steadiness of his life. He had the radio, he had the stage, he had the films, he had the marriage, he had the children, and he had the long, steady career that so many actors dream of but so few achieve. He did not burn out young, and he did not fade away in sadness. He worked, he loved, he laughed, and he kept going until the end. That is a full life, and it is a life worth learning from.
In the end, I think Richard Widmark teaches us that a single moment can change a life, but it does not have to define it. He was Tommy Udo for one film, but he was Richard Widmark for sixty years, and those sixty years were full of work, full of love, full of trying, and full of honesty. I am glad that he lived to be ninety-three, I am glad that he worked for so long, and I am glad that we still have his films to watch, because in those films, he is still alive, still working, still showing us what a good actor can do, and still laughing, in a way that we will never forget.
One more thought stays with me, and it is about the boy in Princeton, Illinois, who liked to read and who liked to act in school plays. That boy could not have known that he would one day give one of the most famous performances in the history of film noir, or that he would live to be ninety-three, or that he would be married for fifty-five years. He only knew that he liked to act, and that he was willing to work hard to learn how. He followed that feeling, step by step, for more than sixty years, and it led him to a life that was rich, long, and full of work that mattered. If a young person reads this story and feels that they are not handsome enough, or that they come from a small town, or that they are starting late, I hope they think of Richard Widmark, and I hope they remember that a long, honest career is worth more than a short, bright fame.
I also think about his work as a producer, and about how brave it was for an actor to make his own films, to take a risk, to put his own money into a story he believed in. The Bedford Incident was such a film, a film about a captain who is destroyed by his own obsession, and Widmark played the captain, and he produced the film, because he believed in it. That is a kind of courage that deserves respect, the courage to make something you believe in, even when no one else believes in it, even when it might fail.
There is another part of his later life that stays with me, and it is the way he kept working with dignity when he was old. In True Colors, in 1991, when he was seventy-six, he played an old senator, a man who has seen a great deal of politics and a great deal of life, and who has learned how to live with what he has seen. He did not try to look young, and he did not try to steal the film from the younger actors. He played the part quietly, with a calm that only comes from a lifetime of work, and the film is better because he is in it. That kind of ageing, without complaint and without pretending, is a rare thing in Hollywood, and it tells me more about the man than any award could.
I think about his daughter, too, and about what it must have been like to be the daughter of a man who was famous for a laugh, for a villain, for a scene in which he pushed an old woman down a flight of stairs. She grew up with a father who was kind, who was funny, who was warm, and who was nothing like Tommy Udo, and she knew that, and she loved him for it. That is a reminder that an actor is not his character, and that a man who plays a villain on screen can be a good man in real life, and Widmark was such a man.
When I watch Pickup on South Street today, I see a film about a pickpocket who has his own code, who will not betray it, even when it costs him, and I think about Widmark, and about how he lived his own life by a code, a code of hard work, of honesty, of loyalty to his family, and of doing his job well. That code is the real legacy of his life, more than any film, more than any laugh, more than any award, and it is a code worth remembering.
Finally, I want to remember him as a man who was famous for one laugh, and who spent sixty years proving that he was more than that laugh. He was a radio actor, a Broadway actor, a film actor, a television actor, a producer, a husband, a father, and a man who lived to be ninety-three, and who worked until the end. That is a full life, and it is a life worth learning from, and I am glad that we still have his films to watch, because in those films, he is still alive, still working, and still laughing, in a way that we will never forget.
Frequently Asked Questions
What film made Richard Widmark famous?
Richard Widmark became famous with his first film, Kiss of Death, released in 1947, in which he played the gangster Tommy Udo. His high, giggling laugh in the film shocked audiences, and he was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for the performance.
Did Richard Widmark win an Academy Award?
No, he was nominated once, for Best Supporting Actor for Kiss of Death in 1947, but he did not win. He worked for more than sixty years in films, on stage, and on television, and he was respected by directors and actors even without an Oscar win.
What are Richard Widmark’s best film noir roles?
His best film noir roles include Tommy Udo in Kiss of Death, Harry Fabian in Night and the City from 1950, and Skip McCoy in Pickup on South Street from 1953. Each of these films is now seen as a classic of the noir era, and his performances in them are widely praised.
How long was Richard Widmark married?
He was married to Jean Hazlewood from 1942 until her death in 1997, a marriage of fifty-five years. They had a daughter together, and they lived in Connecticut, away from Hollywood. He later married Susan Blanchard in 1999.
How old was Richard Widmark when he died?
Richard Widmark died on 24 March 2008 in Roxbury, Connecticut, at the age of ninety-three. He had worked as an actor for more than sixty years, in radio, on Broadway, in films, and on television.
Did Richard Widmark work in westerns?
Yes, he appeared in many westerns, including Broken Lance in 1954, Two Rode Together in 1961, and The Alamo in 1960, in which he played Jim Bowie. He also starred in the television series Madigan, based on his 1968 film about a New York detective.
